


Fetish

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Road Trip, Zane!Sylar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-11
Updated: 2008-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe for once stupid and impulsive was paying off because Zane was kissing him back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fetish

Zane pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt over his hand and wiped the condensation from the window to watch the snow as it began to fall. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station and they drove in a comfortable silence. They were just an hour from Bozeman and Mohinder could see the barely concealed excitement radiating from Zane as he tapped his fingers against the door handle, humming along to the music and all but shivering in anticipation of meeting Dale Smithers.

  


It was warm and stuffy in the car. Mohinder had turned the heating on full blast over an hour ago, preferring to shed his coat while he drove, and the recycled air was thick and stifling. Zane’s scent was flooding his nostrils: the masculine aroma of his deodorant and the slightly sweet tinge of his hair gel. The was a taste of Zane’s musk on Mohinder’s tongue as the heat made him sweat a little and there was a hint of chemicals and cleanliness emanating from his clothes that must have been the scent of his detergent. It was a heady and all consuming combination that filled Mohinder’s lungs with every breath. He couldn’t escape it and it was almost more distracting than the sight of Zane’s tall, lean body or his deep, husky voice. After all, Mohinder could keep his eyes on the road and their conversation had slipped to an easy minimum, but he couldn’t avoid breathing in the air that seemed to be nothing but _Zane_.

  
  


They had been flirting on and off since Mohinder had arrived at Zane’s doorstep but things hadn’t progressed beyond ‘accidental’ touches and sidelong looks. Now, so close to their destination, so near to what could irrevocably change the outlook of this journey, depending on how Mr. Smithers reacted to their unsolicited visit, Mohinder needed things to come to a head. With his every inhalation, desire was pooling in his chest and in his groin, and with a quick glance at Zane’s profile he knew he would need to be the one to take the first step. Sucking a deep, bracing breath he stopped the car at the side of the road.

  
  


‘What are--?’

  
  


Mohinder kissed him, muffling the rest of his words. It was a stupid and impulsive thing to do, stuck in a car in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a gut instinct that Zane had anything more than a casual, friendly interest in him. But then, Mohinder reasoned, it seemed as if everything he had done since arriving in this country had been stupid and impulsive. If he stopped himself from taking risks that might backfire spectacularly, he would never have come to New York, let alone met Zane.

  
  


And maybe for once stupid and impulsive was paying off because Zane was kissing him back not pushing him away, nervous or shocked. If anything, Zane seemed highly amused at Mohinder’s eagerness. It was almost as if he had been waiting for Mohinder to make the first move. They kissed hungrily and Zane was matching him for every caress and every grope that accompanied their press of lips to lips. They were panting into each other’s mouths, now, and Mohinder was acutely aware of how long it had been since he had last had sex. He and Zane had been _making out_, a horrid Americanism from his schooldays but the only term that could do justice to what they were up to, for less than ten minutes and already his cock was hard and heavy, standing to attention and aching to be touched. He took a furtive glance at Zane’s crotch and he was relieved to see the other man in a similar state.

  
  


‘Zane,’ he breathed as he pulled out of the kiss. ‘Maybe we should…’ he licked his lips and studied Zane’s face, ‘get in the backseat?’

  
  


The last response he expected was Zane’s throaty chuckle but there it was echoing in the car and ringing in Mohinder’s ears. Mohinder blushed and stammered, scrambling to think of something to dispel his unease at being laughed at but then Zane was kissing him again and stroking his arms, and Mohinder thought perhaps he hadn’t intended to be unkind.

  
  


‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, a glint of amusement still in his eyes. ‘But, uh, moving to the backseat, on the side of the highway, in the middle of the day? Is going to get us arrested.’

  
  


‘You’re right,’ Mohinder said, clearing his throat. He pulled at his clothes uncomfortably; positive he’d never acted quite that desperately before in his life and completely sure it was Zane’s infuriatingly arousing presence that was driving him to it. ‘So--?’

  
  


This time it was Zane who kissed him to cut off his words, his hands skimming down Mohinder’s front and groping his thighs. Mohinder yelped in pleasure and surprise when, with a nip at his lips, Zane fondled him through his jeans, squeezing his cock. He made Mohinder writhe until Mohinder was certain his hips and thighs would be battered and bruised from hitting the door, the steering wheel and the gearshift with every buck and roll. Just when Mohinder was about to suggest they take their chances with the Highway Patrol, Zane pulled his hands away and settled back in the seat looking supremely satisfied with himself.

  
  


‘We should keep driving if we want to catch Dale before he leaves work.’

  
  


Tease, Mohinder thought, letting his head loll back against the headrest for a moment before restarting the car with a resigned sigh. The car was just as hot and stuffy as before but now both their scents were mingling on Mohinder’s palate and it hinted torturously of the headier, richer aroma of sex. He must have been utterly transparent in his frustration because Zane just chuckled at him once more, softening the sound by brushing the back of his hand against Mohinder’s cheek. When Mohinder glanced over, Zane caught his eye and spread his legs, letting Mohinder see he wasn’t the only one suffering. He shook his head slowly, trying to concentrate on the road and finally getting them to Bozeman – the quicker they found Dale, the quicker they could find a motel.

  
  


***

  
  


Mohinder paced the length of the small motel room. It had been a blow to his ego when Zane had requested they get separate rooms and now, he found himself unable to concentrate on either work or reading, knowing that Zane was just beyond one thin wall. Despite Zane’s explanation that he’d rather take things slowly, that he’d gotten carried away in the car and that he didn’t usually do things like that, Mohinder couldn’t help but fret that he’d misread the situation and that perhaps Zane was gently trying to dissuade him. While he’d seemed enthusiastic as they kissed, he’d grown serious after they’d met Dale, quizzing Mohinder on the possible extent of her powers and asking Mohinder again about the people who might seek to hurt them. When they had parted for the night, they had spoken of Mohinder’s father and at the time Mohinder had been glad for the separate rooms. The thought of the murder made him moody and morose, and being there with Zane, the empirical evidence that validated his father’s work, stoked a confusing mixture of pride, loss and regret in his gut.

  
  


But now it was midnight and those unpleasant emotions had long since faded. He found himself sniffing at his hands, still retaining the scent of Zane’s hair gel and licking his lips, trying to recapture a hint of Zane’s taste. He was restless and he couldn’t sleep, overcome with excitement in more than one form. Tomorrow they would catalogue Dale’s ability, his research advancing in leaps and bounds after years of impotent stagnation, a laughing stock in the face of the scientific community by virtue of his father’s field of study. Excitement at a new found sense of purpose and destiny, and a vague feeling that things were falling into place had settled over him and he was itching to share that with Zane.

  
  


Yet, Zane hadn’t come to knock on his door to chat or otherwise. The hours had stretched on and Mohinder found himself growing insecure. Was Zane getting cold feet – not just about them, but about this trip and his work? The more he tried to dismiss the idea, the more it gnawed at the back of his mind. Until finally, cursing himself for the desperate show he was about to make, Mohinder grabbed his coat and stepped outside to knock on Zane’s door.

  
  


***

  
  


‘Mohinder?’

  
  


Zane answered the door wrapped in a towel, his hair wet and his upper body damp from the shower. He looked terrible, holding his head in one hand and shielding his eyes from the fluorescent lights with the other.

  
  


‘Zane?’ Mohinder cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a fool for disturbing the other man’s door so late at night. ‘I’m sorry… the light was on and… are you ok?’

  
  


‘Headache,’ he whispered, cringing away from the sound of his own voice. He was shivering as he stood exposed in the doorway. Mohinder was aware of a cool breeze tickling the back of his ears and imagined that Zane must be positively frozen. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  
  


Mohinder knew he should have said no. Zane was obviously feeling unwell and they had promised to meet Dale early in the morning. It would only be kind to let Zane get some sleep, but Mohinder didn’t have the strength to walk away now. He wanted Zane and he needed to know that Zane felt the same way.

  
  


‘Yes.’

  
  


‘Sure.’ He stepped aside to let Mohinder enter, a fake looking smile plastered on his face. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from where he had laid them out on the bed and gestured towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll just, uh…’

  
  


‘Take your time.’

  
  


He shuffled back into the bathroom and Mohinder stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not really sure what to do with himself. The room was a mirror image of his own, and just as dingy and unwelcoming. Zane’s overnight bag was sitting open on the bed, his clothes folded in piles and Mohinder imagined him unpacking half-heartedly as he tried to shake the pain from his head. His converse shoes were in a heap by the door where he had kicked them off and it looked as if he had made an attempt at turning down the bed, the heavy, stained coverlet folded neatly against the footboard. There was a hint of disinfectant in the air and Mohinder wondered briefly if Zane had been sick – it would explain the late night shower and his ashen pallor. He pushed aside the twinge of guilt that urged him to give his apologies and leave.

  
  


Mohinder slipped out of his coat and went to hang it on the back of the door beside Zane’s. As he did so, he furtively stroked the sleeve of the other man’s coat, sighing at the soft, supple material beneath his fingers. He glanced guiltily at the bathroom door, but the shower had turned on again and Mohinder knew he was unlikely to be caught. He flipped back the lapel of Zane’s coat, fingering the warm sheepskin lining and quickly pressing his face inside the collar. It was steeped in Zane’s scent: the clean, citrus of his shampoo, and the salty tang of his sweat. Mohinder inhaled deeply and he felt light headed, his body reacting as it had done earlier in the car.

  
  


Mohinder pressed his body flat against the door and nuzzled his face into the high collar, his face flushing at the warmth of the material, his arousal and his embarrassment. He rubbed himself against the coat, squeezing his eyes shut against what he was doing as he lifted the hem of his shirt and pressed his bare stomach and chest to the material. He was sweating now, from his shame and his nervousness, and he wondered if Zane would smell him on the coat in the morning. Mohinder hoped that he would and he hoped that as he sat in the car, wrapped in his coat, Mohinder’s scent imbued within it, Zane would be as half as turned on as Mohinder would be, just watching him.

  
  


He rolled his hips once, sucking in a deep breath, rich with the smell of _Zane_ before pushing himself away and running his hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. He bit harshly at his thumb, using the pain to ground himself and pull himself together. How was it that Zane did this to him, turned him into some insatiable pervert not to be trusted alone for five minutes? Mohinder shook his head and pressing the heel of his palm to his eyes, he tried to forget what he had just done.

  
  


The steady beat of the shower was still going and Mohinder stared around the room again, looking desperately for something to distract him from his arousal. Even in the faceless, generic room, Zane seemed to have left touches of himself everywhere. His wallet was on the nightstand, his belt coiled on top of the television and his luggage on the bed. The overnight bag caught his eye, and he ran his finger along the cold metal teeth of the zip, peering into the open lid. Zane must have packed lightly because apart from a few pens, some coins and a comb, there was nothing left in the bag. Mohinder trailed his hand over the stacked clothes, noting that he had only packed one spare pair of trousers and three extra t-shirts. He made a mental note to ensure the next motel they stayed at had laundry facilities. Mohinder supposed that Zane was used to living rough on the road when his band was on tour, and he imagined the other man wasn’t above wearing shirts inside out and reusing his jeans several times if they couldn’t find a laundromat.

  
  


He picked up the smallest pile, made up of the clothes Zane had been wearing earlier. He rubbed his cheek against the soft material of his Ramones t-shirt and recalled what it was like to feel Zane’s chest beneath the cotton as they sat in the car kissing. He skimmed his fingers between the folds, keeping the pile neat, but luxuriating in the different textures of the clothes – the slight roughness of his trousers, still damp at the hems from the ice and snow, and the worn softness of his shirt, almost threadbare at the armpits. Between the two, Mohinder found Zane’s soiled underwear. Looking over his shoulder and cocking his head to listen carefully, Mohinder licked his lips and extricated the boxer-briefs from the middle of the pile. He returned the rest of the clothes to the bed and held Zane’s underwear in both hands, unfolding it and simply staring.

  
  


Mohinder backed up until he was resting with his shoulders pressed against their coats. Just having the dirty fabric in his hands was making his knees feel weak with arousal and his heart pound guiltily. Still flicking his eyes to the bathroom door, Mohinder gritted his teeth and brought the black material to his face, sniffing quickly. Zane’s scent was hanging strong and musky in the worn garment and he pressed his face deeper into it to suck in a mouthful of the heady aroma. His breath was coming quick and fast, and Mohinder remembered how he had caught a glimpse of Zane’s concealed erection in the car. He thought of the material stretching and tenting to restrain his hardness and he exhaled a shuddery sigh.

  
  


Suddenly, the bathroom door was rattling. Mohinder scrunched up Zane’s underwear in his fist and hurriedly shoved it into his coat pocket. His heart was pounding and he turned his back to the bathroom, feigning an interest in the wallpaper to give himself a moment to try and will away his erection. He tried to breathe calmly and act nonchalant but he felt certain that Zane would see through his façade and pinpoint his guilt in an instant.

  
  


‘Sorry I was so long.’

  
  


Mohinder put his hands in his pockets so that the nervous tremble wouldn’t give him away and turned to face the other man. He looked no better, gingerly drying his hair with a ratty motel towel and rubbing at his temples.

  
  


‘You should lie down, Zane,’ he whispered.

  
  


Working quickly, Mohinder gathered up his clothes from the bed and deposited them in the chest of drawers, scooping up the overnight bag to sit at the foot of the bed. He ignored the part of himself that admitted his motive lay as much in ensuring Zane didn’t notice his boxer-briefs were missing as they did in putting Zane at his ease. He guided Zane gently down, plumping the pillows in an attempt to make up for his gross invasion of privacy with this pitiful display of attention. Mohinder felt disgusting and duplicitous, trying to comfort Zane while hiding how he had rifled through his dirty clothes, how he had pawed at them and derived a filthy sexual gratification from them. But Zane didn’t seem to notice as he covered his eyes with his hands and indicated to Mohinder to shut off the lights.

  
  


‘You wanted to talk…’ he started. Mohinder could barely make out his features in the newly darkened room, but he reached out a hand and petted his shoulder.

  
  


‘It doesn’t matter. You’re ill. Let me take care of you.’

  
  


Zane groaned as if in absolute agony, turning to the side and curling into a ball. Mohinder wondered how bad his migraine must be and if there was more to it. He wracked his brain trying to remember what Zane had eaten that day, perhaps he had food poisoning on top of the headache.

  
  


Mohinder tenderly massaged his shoulders, skimming his hands down Zane’s bare chest and trying to get him to lie straight and still. He ignored his whimpers of pain, cooing reassuringly and rubbing every inch of skin available, trying to relax his cramping muscles. Mohinder straddled him, burying his hands in Zane’s hair and massaging his scalp. Some of the tension seemed to leave his brow and Mohinder smiled, Zane nodding in response to his simple, ‘good?’

  
  


He worked circles into Zane’s skin with the pads of his fingers, the entire room becoming infused with the clean smell of soap and shampoo. Mohinder kneaded the back of Zane’s neck, locating the knots in his shoulders and gently trying to ease them loose, but Zane was frowning again, his face turned to the side and his body going tense beneath Mohinder’s touch.

  
  


‘I think I should get some sleep,’ Zane mumbled.

  
  


Mohinder wanted to agree. He knew he should agree, should leave Zane to rest and heal, but he was still half-hard in his trousers and his throbbing cock seemed to pound out that he needed to atone to Zane for the liberties he had taken.

  
  


‘Just lie back,’ he urged. ‘I’ll help you get to sleep.’

  
  


Zane was squirming uncomfortably under his touch, almost trying to writhe away as if the soft drag of Mohinder’s fingers over his skin were scalding or burning him. Mohinder worked his sweatpants open, determined to send Zane to sleep with his mouth on his dick. A nice long orgasm would do wonders to dull the edge of his pain. But as he worked his hands under the waistband, Zane gripped him by the wrists and through gritted teeth asked, ‘what are you doing?’

  
  


‘I’m…’ Mohinder felt wanton and ridiculous, throwing himself at Zane like a shameless whore but he needed something to hang his arousal on. He needed to tie this feeling to something normal, something acceptable, rather than admit he had an unrelenting hard-on from sniffing Zane’s shorts. ‘I’m gonna go down on you. It’ll relax you…’

  
  


‘No, Mohinder.’ He laughed. It was the same incredulous chuckle that had greeted Mohinder’s suggestion that they make out in the backseat of the car, and hearing it, Mohinder knew how stupid he must sound to the other man, how desperate. ‘I can’t. Not tonight. Go to bed, Mohinder.’

  
  


‘It’ll feel good, I promise.’ He twisted his hands but he couldn’t break free from Zane’s grip.

  
  


‘No.’

  
  


Mohinder tried to hold back the whimper of disappointment and the sting of rejection. He was offering himself up to the other man, no strings attached and to be summarily shot down like this was not something Mohinder was used to. Zane must have heard his pitiful sigh because he stroked the hair back from his forehead and lessened the grip on his wrists.

  
  


‘I’m in too much pain, Mohinder,’ he explained slowly. ‘In the morning… if you still want to, you can…’ Zane trailed off, caressing his cheek. ‘But right now I need to sleep.’

  
  


Mohinder nodded, not really caring that Zane probably couldn’t see him in the dim light. He retied the drawstring on his sweatpants, ignoring the way Zane tensed at the brush of his hands and dropped a goodnight kiss to his stomach, making Zane hiss in aggravation. Mohinder slipped off the bed and tucked Zane in, caressing his hair. He was on edge now and there would be no way for Mohinder to sneak the underwear back with the rest of his clothes. When he shrugged on his coat, the stolen garment still stuffed in the pocket, it was if a weight settled on his conscience as well. He quietly bid Zane goodnight and went to his room to spend the night steeped in his own degeneracy.

  



End file.
